B2 Chapter 258: An Unexpected End

Laughter spilled across the polished marble room, the delicate sound of joy quickly echoed by a dozen other mirthful women.

They danced—hips swaying through the slowly raining petals as the warm sun shone through their silks, framing the subtle curves of their hips and breasts. They moved slow, but carefree. A voyage of love and light as they fuzzed in and out of sight.

A goblet was offered, the colour of honey and studded with rich rubies and gleaming diamonds. The wine within was buttery and rich—exactly as he expected the good stuff would taste.

He laughed—joined by the gentle mirth of a pale beauty who still leaned over him, full frame spilling over as her green eyes twinkled with shy deference.

Winking at the girl, Tovic grabbed a handful of what was on offer as he tugged her into his lap and raised his goblet, cheering in delight.

Running his hand up her hip, he—

A deep seated crash shattered the illusion, throwing Tovic into a bleary disarray.

Wiping his hand across his face, he stared at the film of grey that had been left on its surface, desperately trying to reconcile what was happening with his sudden awakening from his dream.

“Is that dust?” he thought, swinging his legs out of bed to sit on its edge.

Rubbing his fingers together, he realised it was. Why the fuck what he covered in dust, and what the hells had caused that noise? He sincerely hoped it wasn’t guards roughhousing outside of his room again—if they’d woken him from such a nice dream, there would be hell to pay.

Shaking off the last of his fatigue, the blood drained from his face as a wardlight in the ceiling suddenly cast a deep red over his room. He stared at the light in horror. Never, in all of his years working in the compound, had that light turned on.

An all hands call. An alert that they were under attack.

Adrenaline shot through his veins—a flow of cold dread that banished his exhaustion and left his heart thumping in his chest.

Hands moving in a blur, he ripped off his sleeping clothes, doing his best to dust himself off the rest of the debris that coated him.

How could they possibly be under attack? The compound was hidden, its location only known to a handful of the boss’s chosen few—even he was knocked out before he was cycled out. For fuck’s sake, barely more than a hut with walls tucked deep in a forest—most of it was underground!

Unease rushed through him as he froze, realising that if they were truly under attack, he had no way out. No doubt the place had hidden exits, but he didn’t know where they were.

Even if he wanted to, there was no way for him to flee.

Tovic grit his teeth, rushing to his closet. Halfway across the room, a deafening crash kicked him in the chest. More dust rained from the ceiling as he stumbled, struggling to keep his legs as the very bones of the building shook beneath his feet.

Calls of alarm carried through his heavy door, pounding feet and the jangle of armour crashing into stone easily heard. The guards were active, rushing through the hallways in a scurry of activity. Shortly after, a bell began to peel far above—the noise faint after having to traverse through a warren of underground passages to reach him.

“Fuck.” Tovic muttered, forcing himself to move as he started to pull his under-armour on.

Graces be, that he didn’t have to join them on their mad dash to the surface. Tough as nails he might have been, he had no will to spill his blood for the ‘cause’.

Thankfully, his job was simple. Kill the prisoners if they were fully breached.

Tying his padded tunic on as best he could, he started pulling out his boiled leather and chain—throwing on his armour with reckless abandon, barely slow enough to make sure his buckles were properly fastened before he moved on to lacing his boots.

Snatching up his trusty steel bludgeon, he felt a modicum safer. Though only marginally; an assault on the compound was something he’d never anticipated actually happening. What sort of lunatic would move against Old Yon like that?

They’d have to be mad. Old Yon was as avaricious as a dragon, and thrice as mean—no way he would take an assault like this lying down. Whoever had organised this raid was a dead man walking.

He might have just been muscle who’d gotten stronger than most, but Old Yon and his core crew were connected. Knew the sorts of people that anyone with sense left well enough alone.

Strapping his buckler to his arm, Tovic sneered as his thoughts turned to his charges.

These new ones were even worse than the girl. Thought they were tough because they’d handled a little bit of pain, thought they were strong because they’d been handed the sort of opportunities most men never even dreamed of.

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He despised them—the silver spooned freaks who never knew the struggles that real men went through to gain even a sliver of safety in the brutal battlefield that was life. Never knew hunger. Never needed to learn who would shank you for a spare copper bit.

They deserved what was coming for them, every scrap of it. When the mind mage arrived, he looked forward to watching them shatter. To witnessing their smug pride turn to ash as their brain melted out their ears.

In his mind, what they were doing was justice. None of them, not even the beast, deserved what they had got. Not when the deserving like him had to squeak by, barely surviving thanks to their strength of arm and quick wit.

Besides, their capabilities were wasted on them. Any fool who was stupid enough to be caught was far too weak to be trusted with such power.

Much better he make a little profit off their failure, where he could squirrel away the little bits of information he so desperately needed as the blue-blooded scum screamed their hearts out.

He grinned, thinking of the wealth he had secured. The scraps he had pieced together over the years—half mumbles after prisoners had been returned to him from questioning. No child of his would suffer as he had—and no child of his would be so stupid as to get caught by boastful tales and flashy fights.